The Wicker Tree. BOLLOCKS.

I finally sat down and watched this film with a friend last night, after seeing the trailer and having my occult dick hardened over it about two years ago. I could never find it to download (woops, I mean buy on DVD...) on any of the big torrent sites, but last night the stars aligned and the film downloaded, quick as a sober virgin.

This has nothing to do with the "Nicholas Cage - Rampage! Woman Punching Fest" that was released in 2006. The Wicker Tree boasted that it had Christopher Lee - pretty much the deal breaker that made me sit down and watch it. I had to find myself in a particular mind-frame to watch this film. I didn't want the viewing to in any way skew my memory of the brilliant original, or tarnish the cult horrors reputation.

I drop the file in VLC so its louder than an alarm during a hangover. My expectations aren't very high, but I still can't help but feel somewhat excited. The title sequence rolls on and the film properly begins. That's pretty much where it started to get terrible.

The main characters are two American born-again Christians. One is some sort of John Wayne wannabe/inbred hick and the other is a ditzy, unattractive (That shouldn't really be relevant - but I'm a cunt) blonde girl who turned her back on a life of sucking fifteen dicks an hour to afford jewellery to preach the word of the lawd! How touching.

Two main characters?! NO NO NO NO NO. The first film played off how isolated Sgt. Howie is as he journeys around Summerisle searching for Rowan Morrison. Of course, Summerisle being an island also helped to reinforce that Sgt. Howie was completely alone with no friends to help him on this primitive and savage place, that God had seen fit to abandon. The Wicker Tree, having introduced two characters within the first two minutes, had me disappointed already. The film wasn't set on an island, but in mainland Scotland, albeit a rural area. The sense of isolation was COMPLETELY gone from the film. At this stage, I was sadfacing tears of diarrhoea and dragging my nails across my face to try and make it stop.

If there was one thing I did not want to do on a Tuesday night while sipping the finest Spar wine, it was watch two overly naive and somewhat thick Americans get sodomized by belligerent Scottish heathens. I've just realized it sounds somewhat cool when you put it like that. Maybe I'll try this version - I DID NOT WANT TO WATCH A CORNY MODERN FILM MADE FROM THE AFTERBIRTH OF AN AMAZING CULT HORROR.

The leader of the "Pagans/Heathens" in this film is a man who looks almost identical to Ben Kingsley. I spent perhaps eight minutes regaining my horror boner and thinking about how brilliant it would be to see Ben Kingsley schooling the Americans. While I daydreamed about him going "Sexy Beast" all over those filthy Christians, I missed most of his opening dialogue, and then realized it wasn't him. Once again flaccid and not far into the film, I gulped down a large measure of wine. Throughout the film, as I sipped on my Spar labelled South American piss and ate bourbon creams, I felt like Henry the VIII. Judging the film and everyone in it, like a petulant, paranoid monarch. I didn't kill anyone though - not yet.

So. Fuck. No Ben Kingsley. Blah blah blah things happen. The whole film doesn't feel much like a horror. It most certainly doesn't feel like an occult film whatsoever. What am I watching so? I put on this film to see gratuitous orgies by the light of the moon and babies being fed into bonfires! TICKLE MY OCCULT G SPOT YOU FOOLS.

I could get over the terrible acting at times because this Ben Kingsley 2 lad was pretty good whoever he was... But then the bad thing happened. The Bad Thing. It was here! Christopher Lee was going to come and kick all sorts of ass. He would come like a Valkyrie from the sky on a horse made of Mars Bars and cigarettes. He'd show up and drink cans and lick tits. He would be the Duke Nukem of this film. Kick ass and take names Christopher Lee, just like you did in the original Wicker Man. Now, I know that Mr. Lee is very old at this stage, so I questioned myself. Had I set the bar too high for him in this film? I lowered my expectations... Maybe if he pulls a Saruman and casts one fireball, I could be content. Just one measly fireball. Anyone can do that. If you filled Joan Burton with enough burning toilet paper and black rum, she could probably conjure up a mild Hadouken and some third degree burns. BUT NO. No spells, no anything. He was in the film for about.... sixty seconds or less? The writers didn't even have the initiative to give him brilliant, unforgettable dialogue or to get him to go off on a shakespearean soliloquy. Christopher Lee was standing there, against a country background that looked blue screened, talking to a child/adolescent with a big fat face who was trying to paint a bridge. I thought Christopher Lee might have dropped the hand, or kissed him, just SOMETHING to make the scene unforgettable, but no.

So the film has failed me. Dead in its tracks, failed to wow me in any way. There was very few nude scenes - Occult horror needs nudes! I'm just a sexual deviant though.

They didn't show any violence or gore. I'm not a sick gore merchant in any way... but after being made to sit through the dialogue of those vacant-headed Americans, you really do want to see them skinned and salted.

This hasn't tarnished the reputation of the original in any way. If you haven't seen it, I really, really recommend watching it. I suppose if you are a massive fan of the original, you kind of have to see The Wicker Tree in a obsessive kind of way, just to finish the collection in your mind, which is exactly what I had to do.

I came, I watched, I slandered


Where. Is. Rowan. Morrison.